the profoundly original is, at first, ugly to us
Leslie likely isn’t his real name. Maybe Butch or Boris or something that sounds like a broken nose. A bulk like that could model orange jump-suits. A voice like that would make most suits jump.
Leslie cradles a Pomeranian in one palm under a blur of shears from the other. He’s worked pet stores and shelters, but prefers it at the clinic, cleaning and calming the furred. This was not a happy Pomeranian that came in, shivering. Alone.
The injured and abandoned, they place in hands that shelter from hurt beyond words. His groomer’s shampoo is nothing special. The scissors and brushes are secondhand tools. But the Pom calms as its coat turns pretty and inside made whole again.
Leslie’s ability is born of irony. Only he can tell the why of the story. The what comes from failing to ward off ‘one last chance, dad, he’ll be better this time.’ He held her, felt the warmth enter his fingers, felt his insides turn ugly and ugly’s not worthy.
But it was an incident offshore that informed Leslie his calling was more than enforcer. A man rowed out and tossed a sack over. A chain at his ankle, his head hit the gunwale. He was tugged to shore by the Sheltie, escaped from the sack. The dog went back.
Leslie bobbed in the lake and his dog went back. Not all positivity is toxic. That lame dog lived for years under hands that learned to hold, not toss away life. Leslie’s palms warm the Pom as they have so many companions since they warmed a Sheltie named Leslie.
